I witnessed, from a boat floating
on the umbra’s narrow path of totality: a total solar eclipse,
not seen in our country for nearly forty years.

The “diamond ring” glint, the corona’s white wisps, the moment
of alignment: cricket and bird chirps clicking off.
How quiet quiet is when all sound ceases.

Like when a circuit trips, and the house quits its whir and hum
or when keys unlock the front door to nothing,
your hello not answered from another room,

you can explain total silence only by what you can’t hear.
I give up trying to describe the 360-degree sunset
lassoing a Blue Ridge lake, the mountains’ red nimbus.

How long two dark minutes seem, the air quickly cold.
Then, oddly stark shadows and the day’s second sunrise, 3:07 pm,
moon moving into its own space, waking up nature again,

and you know how it must’ve felt to be part of a pagan circle,
wildly praying or dancing, to praise a god or goddess
for the giving-light’s return.